


fond de l’air

by TheStarsHaveAligned



Series: Fol [5]
Category: Code: Realize, Code: Realize ~Guardian of Rebirth~
Genre: F/M, Saint Germain instrospection, Twisted love, loads of angst because his route, probably some attempts of murder who am i trying to fool, you thought it couldn't get darker somehow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-25
Updated: 2017-01-25
Packaged: 2018-09-19 21:30:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9461153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheStarsHaveAligned/pseuds/TheStarsHaveAligned
Summary: He knows he can't feed her hopes. He should not, least she believes, even for a moment, he won't kill her. Because he will.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Based on Ch.10 of Saint Germain's route.
> 
> Part 1.

When her voice answers the knock on the door it's careful, and soft. Not frightened. But it's sore, and it makes Saint Germain unable to give his name, unable to respond in a silence that surrounds and drowns him.

When his eyes opened this morning all he could think was that the weather was not to blame, but sunny and peaceful was definitely not the mood he carried, and would probably not be hers either. A mock from heavens, without a doubt.

Yet, hearing his name from her lips was the kind of invitation he would not be able to ever reject. And she should have thought better than to call him in.

Not that her silence would have made him turn around and leave. Unfortunately.

 

Saint Germain wishes she would not look at him like this, helpless and tired, and somewhat forlorn. Even as she admitted trying to find a way out, there is no hope in her eyes. And he thinks that making her surrender is not giving him any kind of joy, quite the opposite.

She should be fighting. She should be resisting, like she did last night. Cardia was strong, was lively and combative. This Cardia was...

Lost. And confused.

Yet he knows he can't feed her hopes. He should not. Least she believes, even for a moment, he won't kill her. Because he will.

 

“...It sounds as if you've been preparing for this for a while.”

The betrayal is thick in her voice, but there is something else laced with it that makes Saint Germain flinch internally. There is a feeling of sadness so deep it makes him regret all and every word he had said. Rage, he could bear, but that sorrow is a blow that threatens to crack his perfect facade, that makes his ever present smile feel like a mouthful of sharp shards he has to bite.

She's hurt. He hurt her.

But of course he did. He had tried to kill her. And he should have killed her last night, if only not to look at those eyes looking at him like this. If only to hide and run from his own pain. Not just from hers, but from the crushing guilt of ever trying to finish her existence.

If only because she trusted him, he should have killed her then and there. So she would have not felt betrayed, so she would not have had time to feel sad. Only fright and rage. Never this. And so he would have never had to feel that too. But he could not.

That despondent feeling sweeping out of her, dulling her eyes as she accepts he never was honest in his intentions to come close makes Saint Germain feel raw and cold, dressed only in the mask he can't take off.

He understands clearly what she feels, what she's thinking, even without her boldly estating it. He lied to her. It is the fact that he lied, more than the fact he had to kill her, that hurt her.

Because she can't find the reason why, and he won't tell. Her eyes won't find in him any answer or reason to what is happening, and that should be driving her mad but instead she just looks at him. Trying to decode his smile.

Making all this infinitely more difficult than it should.

 

Yet there is this disgusting feeling of thrill at how she looks at him when she remembers last night, and Saint Germain can't help the shiver that runs from his back to his wrists and fingers when his own body answers to the memory of her body pinned under him, and the submission he forced.

He hates it. He hates it but he can't stop smiling at her shock, at the contrast between what he should be feeling and what runs through his body like electricity. As if a switch to sanity had been disconnected, some wire cut and sparking a darkness inside him, her vulnerability lighting him.

Despite that, it's her desperate voice that shuts him down and brings him back, that makes his own voice come out in a whisper, as if her tightly closed fists were squeezing his words and thoughts.

He had wanted to protect her, as much as he could. He had dream-believed he would, that he could protect her. Until he had to kill her. The helpless lamb innocently following the shepherd, only to find this had been her fate all along.

And that realization makes him surrender too, accept there was no other way despite her resentment, despite her sadness and confusion. It only weights on him that he had to earn her trust only to lie and betray, to finally kill her. For once Saint Germain thinks, he'd have rather act in the shadows and kill her from behind. To save them both from this pain.

Because one way or another, the only certainty is that he must kill her. And so he will.

That is not to mean he wants her to suffer. And he acknowledges it's from her own desperation that Cardia asks it, as if inviting death into her bedroom before time.

He would not kill her now. For as ruthless he is, he's not that merciless; especially when it's about her. And even as it sounds forced, and absurd and surreal, he wants her to understand this is fate, and it's beyond his wishes but still he can _sweeten_ it. He can make it as if she was dreaming, as if she was... floating. Light and peacefully.

He thinks he's offering her the best deal, given the circumstance, given the unavoidable fate: she must die, but he will be as merciful as possible, as a symbol of...

His train of thought is cut when Cardia muses on her own lack of understanding of him, as if the blame was hers for not reaching out enough, despite her attempts to bond with him.

Saint Germain is thankful once again for the years carving out a smile on his face. There was no way she would have ever reached the bottomless pit that was his true self, and that is a small relief to him, for she should never see anything darker than what he's presenting her with. There would be no way back from the insanity that would mean knowing who and what he really was.

He should have, in fact, killed her that night. The situation had become utterly absurd and a part of him wanted to laugh at her words, either in disbelief or amusement or nervousness. But shock overcame these feeling when he saw her eyes had not an ounce of dishonesty. She was not buying time. She was not lying. A friend.

He had never wanted to be anything least in his life, than her friend.

Despite the heartwarming words she presented him with, to Saint Germain it was as if she was mocking him, all his intentions and words and actions. The word sounded alien and rough on his tongue, and he could feel his temple twitching again, a remnant of yesterday's headache, when she uttered her hopes to reach an agreement.

He could not decide if she was the most foolish or trusting person he had ever met. None was good. Yet he had wanted to protect that naivety, that innocence. He had wished many times the circumstances of their meeting had been different and yet.

There were no different circumstances under which they would have met. Not a chance. And a sadness and despondency overcame him too, finally, breaking his voice as he resumed his speech.

They were fated to meet, because she was fated to die. And one cannot fight fate.

 

The door closes behind him, and he locks it without turning around, his back against the wood.

There is nothing to lament.

 

 


End file.
